Violet Nights 1: Golden Afternoons
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Persuaded by friends and family, Bilbo Baggins quits his boring job and opens a quiet café with a rainbow sticker in the window –everybody's welcome. He doesn't expect it to become a safe comfortable place for a very protective and paranoid family, who happen to run the biggest gay club in town. He's not complaining though, not when Thorin looks at him like that.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Warning - contains sibling incest and crossdressing. Part 1 of the Violet Nights series_

* * *

**GOLDEN AFTERNOONS**

In his teenage years, Bilbo had quickly realised that clubbing was not for him, almost as quickly as he'd realised that dating women wasn't either. Millie, Falco, and Brinar had teased him for staying in while they headed out for a late one, but they always came hammering on his door when the clubs had closed for the night. Thankfully Bilbo's parents were both accepting of his sexuality and slept like the dead. Bilbo enjoyed hearing his friends' stories amid the clink of mugs in the kitchen and Brinar's compliments about whatever baked goods Bilbo had produced for them. It was a tradition that carried on into the house that Bilbo owned and lived in by himself once he reached his late twenties.

"You're missing out," Falco warned him, very seriously. "On a lot of cock."

Bilbo snorted and chucked a teaspoon at his friend. "I know the sort of cocks you like, Fal. I'm not missing out at all."

Fal threw the spoon back and Millie twisted her lips unhappily, even as she helped herself to another of Bilbo's Especially Chocolatey Brownies. "The sort of cocks I like always turn out to be real dicks."

Bilbo refilled her mug with tea and squeezed her hand comfortingly. Millie wasn't alone there – he'd dated some right dicks too. And he'd met them outside of the clubscene. Bilbo was really more of a pub person, at home beside a warm fire with a pint at his elbow, a pie in front of him, and the footie on the telly. Some of the guys he'd hooked up with had been pleasant enough, but too many of his relationships had soured. And his friends' solution was that he should club more. Bilbo sighed and took a particularly large brownie for himself.

"You should go pro, Bilbo," Brinar mumbled around a mouthful of fudge cake. "Seriously this time of night, after the clubs close, you'd rake it in."

"Invite drunk people into my house late at night, all because you want a piece of cake that I give you for free anyway?" Bilbo shot back, his tone clearly saying how very ridiculous that was.

The conversation veered in a different direction after that but the idea lingered with Bilbo. His administrative job at the local leisure centre was always supposed to be temporary, only he'd been there for four years now. He'd done stints at Starbucks and various no-name cafés in his student days, and his mum had always maintained that he couldn't be the only gay man in the city who enjoyed a nice cup of tea, a good book, and a sit-down.

Bilbo tried to push the idea away and concentrate instead on Millie's latest disaster of a relationship while fending off Falco's constant attempts to get Bilbo out with them more often:

"I know what night it is at Erebor, Fal. It took me forever to get all that glitter out of my carpet last time."

"If you came out with us more, you'd be dealing with entirely different stains, you know."

"...I cannot believe you actually think that'll change my mind."

Brinar's idea wouldn't disappear from Bilbo's thoughts though and Bilbo found himself contemplating properties as he walked to work. There was a small hairdressers that was closing down, near to several clubs, taxi ranks, and the main shopping centre. His mother, Belladonna, noticed him staring at it when he next took her out for lunch.

"You should, you know. You're wasted in that job," she pronounced, pouring the tea. "And all those family recipes are just waiting to be appreciated by a wider audience."

She'd definitely been watching too many episodes of _The Great British Bake-Off_, Bilbo decided, or she was only now revealing her latent ambition to own a café. Or maybe Brinar had called her again. That happened a little too often for Bilbo's sanity.

He smiled gamely though and rebuffed his mother, reminding her how much money he'd need to get a new business like that started. He didn't have a leg to stand on when his Great Aunt Violet passed away, leaving him a surprisingly sizeable lump sum. And the hairdressers was still up for sale and work was particularly gruesome that week and his mother turned up unannounced one evening, producing a cheque from her handbag that made Bilbo very panicked.

"Mum! You can't give me this much..."

"It's not for you, my boy. If you don't buy that shopfront, I will!"

Horrified at the idea of his mother bankrupting herself in order to prove a point to him, Bilbo put an offer in the next day. His mother smiled contentedly and Brinar called him immediately to gloat.

"You'll be knee-deep in profits and cock before you know it!"

"You're barred," Bilbo told him firmly, and went in search of a decent pint to drown in.


	2. Chapter 2

Belladonna insisted that he take most of the furniture from Great Aunt Violet's house for his new venture.

"Really, darling, where are we going to put it?" She gestured to their already-full living room. "Do we look as though we need another three-piece-suite and dresser?"

Bilbo looked helplessly at his father, Bungo, who laughed around his pipe. "You know how she gets once she's on a mission, son. And you're a fool if you refuse free furniture."

Well, there was that. Fal and Millie came up with an idea for how to renovate Bilbo's new property – he could bake and provide cups of tea, and their friends would do all the heavy-lifting for him. It sounded simplistic but it worked and Bilbo found himself wall to wall with very kind and chatty people who praised his coffee and walnut cake and apple and blackberry pies and who told him that they'd definitely visit when he opened. Fal smirked at him from beside a beautiful boy with blue hair. Bilbo flipped him off and deliberately didn't offer him any more pie.

It took quite a few weekends and late nights, but eventually Bilbo was ready. The café had a sort of comfortable cosy look to it – there were sofas and armchairs instead of tables and chairs – and a couple of walls were lined with towering bookshelves, packed with books that Bilbo had bought from flea markets and friends of his. They were all books that he liked the look of, a great eclectic mix, plus there was a small telly for when a decent game was on, and a radio. A counter ran across the back and the hairdresser's small break room had been turned into a kitchen that Bilbo loved already.

He loved the whole place actually, the warm comfortable feel of it. He hoped, with a sudden fierce hope, that other people would feel that way about it too. He could remember too many bad nights ending with him wishing that there was somewhere warm and pleasant for him to sit and drink tea in, maybe read a book or two, somewhere people wouldn't stare at the eye-liner Brinar had painted on him.

Belladonna glowed with righteous happiness as she tucked into a crumpet.

"Don't say it, Mum."

"I don't need to, do I?"

Bilbo gave notice at his job, and put a large rainbow sticker up in the window of his café.

* * *

His friends came along, as promised, and drank tea and ate cake once he'd opened. They told their friends so at least one night a week, his sofas and armchairs overflowed with sweaty glittery beautiful people, men and women with shaved heads, people in wigs and suits. That was part of the clubscene that Bilbo had always enjoyed – the mixing of everybody together, accepting all and just having a good time. That, he'd always appreciated, and he was more than glad that it was happening in his café.

He got given several phone numbers, only a couple of which he actually called. Fal claimed he should put a blackboard up where people could scrawl their digits for him. Fal was lucky he was still allowed in.

But Bilbo couldn't make a steady profit from a night or two of clubbers regularly spilling past his door. Thankfully, the eccentric atmosphere of his café brought in some couples and more than a few students who loved the mix of home-baking and comfortable surroundings, especially when they needed to study. There were the occasional shoppers as well and people who looked around furtively before gradually relaxed. Bilbo did okay; his mother continued to gloat.

Then one quiet night, when he was taking a careful look at the accounts, the bell above the door jangled. He glanced up in time to see a lean young man in the doorway, with stubble on his chin and long dark hair down his back. He was a mixture of pretty and handsome, dressed in slim-hipped jeans and a beautifully-tooled leather corset with a leather jacket and chunky Doc Martins. He looked entirely comfortable in the get-up, as if he wore such outfits every day.

"Is that apple pie and custard I smell?" he asked eagerly.

Bilbo couldn't help smiling, suddenly reminded of his young always-hungry cousins, and nodded back towards the kitchen where an apple pie was being kept warm in the oven.

"How many slices?"

"One, no, two."

Bilbo hopped off his stool to enter the warm steamy kitchen, breathing in the memories of family dinners long past. Somewhere, his mother was smirking. Shaking his head, he cut into the pie and poured generous custard over the slices. He could hear the bell go again; it really wasn't going to be a quiet night after all.

Back on the sofas, the customer was making out with another young man whose his long fair hair was strewn with braids and strange metal fastenings and whose body was clad in form-fitting dark leather. Bilbo coughed politely, as long as such behaviour didn't escalate into public indecency on his sofas, he had no problem with it, he just didn't want the apple pie to get cold.

The men broke apart and Bilbo was struck by the faint similarity in their faces, particularly around the cheekbones. His brain was just sluggishly putting together the unlikely scenario he was witnessing when the men confirmed it with an introduction that sounded rehearsed.

"Fili."

"Kili."

"At your service."

Bilbo could only hold out the full bowls, which the men eagerly accepted. Fili sat down in a wide armchair and Kili promptly made himself at home in the man's lap. Kili wore two diamond stubs in his left earlobe, Bilbo found himself noting, and Fili wore a matching stud in his right. They both glanced up at him, eyebrows raised identically.

"Anything the matter?"

Laughter spilled involuntarily out of Bilbo; they'd asked the question with such a perfectly-balanced tone of politeness and 'fuck you' attitude, as though daring Bilbo to challenge them. They were defiant in their body language too; leading Bilbo to conclude that they'd probably been thrown out of a lot of establishments after similar conversations. He could only imagine the trouble they'd gotten themselves into, being so shameless in every way possible. Well, he had vowed that his little café would unquestioningly accept all comers, no matter their preferences...

"Pay promptly and don't spill anything on the sofas and there won't be," he replied eventually.

As long as they weren't hurting anybody, he could give them as much acceptance here as he offered everybody else. He had a feeling that they probably hadn't gotten that anywhere else. The brothers smiled beatifically and tucked into their desserts. Bilbo went to retrieve his own bowlful.

"Come join us, Mr…?"

"Baggins," he supplied as he sat in the nearby armchair that he privately thought of as his own. "But call me Bilbo."

Not many others entered that night and Bilbo was happy to while away the hours with the brothers, who were full of funny stories about their family – apparently they were from a large complex clan, many of whom were involved in running a nearby club, and who had an even more complicated feud with a club in the next city. It all sounded pretty outlandish but Fili insisted it was true.

"Got this from a guy outside our club a few weeks back." He held up a hand which sported an ugly-looking scar along the thumb. "I was lucky."

Bilbo shuddered; club life really wasn't for him. Kili grinned.

"Ah, it's not like that all the time. Uncle Thorin keeps our club clean, so it won't be shut down any time soon."

"Well, that's good," was all Bilbo could reply.

As they left, the brothers handed over a small handful of crumpled paper money and both hugged Bilbo briefly, which surprised him. There was nothing overt in the action, just simple affection. How many places had they been thrown out of, because they'd refused to hide both sides of their relationship? Bilbo knew what it was like not to fit into other people's neat little boxes. He might not understand their relationship, but he wasn't going to be one of _those_ people.

"Come again," was all he said, instead of any goodbyes.

Fili looked pleased, an arm looped casually around Kili's waist. Kili was looking at his brother with heated adoration. It made Bilbo's mood turn a little sad and melancholic; nobody had ever looked at him in that way.

"We will."

"And we'll bring more family with us."

Now why did that make Bilbo's heart sink?

* * *

The brothers kept their word. It turned out that Bilbo had had a very good reason for that sinking feeling.

"Bilbo, meet our uncle," Kili called by way of a greeting, stripping off his ever-present leather jacket and throwing it haphazardly over a fine velvet-covered chair.

"He runs Erebor," Fili casually followed up, his hands already curled into Kili's waistband.

Bilbo's eyes widened as he properly looked at their uncle – a tall forbidding figure with long silver-streaked hair and a closely-cropped beard. He was staring back at Bilbo, as though very carefully measuring him. Bilbo knew exactly what Fal would say – _that, Bilbo, is a very nice cock._

Bilbo was very well aware of that; he was human after all and gay and very much liked what he saw in front of him. He also felt as though the rug had well and truly been pulled out from underneath him because...

"I'm sorry, you run the Erebor!?"

Thorin raised an impressive eyebrow – shit, Bilbo was thinking about his _eyebrows_, not a good sign – and swept a gaze around the café that made Bilbo's hackles rise. Okay, so it wasn't the biggest gay club in the city, but it wasn't something to scrape off the bottom of a shoe either.

"Family business," Thorin said eventually.

"Oh well, my friends like it, a lot," Bilbo offered sincerely, determined to take the high road.

"And you?"

Bilbo paused, flashing back to his one and only experience of Erebor. It had been extremely loud and full, but the drinks had been reasonably priced, the bouncers hadn't been assholes, and many different kinds of people had mixed together quite freely and easily. Bilbo had enjoyed people watching that night, he remembered that very clearly, and he'd exchanged handjobs in the back with a guy wearing the tightest jeans Bilbo had ever seen. He'd woken up the next day with the guy's number penned on his hand.

"It was good," Bilbo said at last, his words loaded with a wealth of things he couldn't possibly express out loud – that clubbing really wasn't his scene at all but that Erebor had given him one of his only positive experiences of it and that it'd briefly reminded him of something both vivid and vital; that he, and so many others like him, weren't alone.

Thorin gazed at him, something unfathomable and powerful softening in his eyes. Bilbo felt deliciously caught, pinned in place, and God, how obvious was he to Thorin? The way the man looked at Bilbo made him feel as though his every most private secret was laid bare. It was deeply unnerving.

"Uncle, don't scare off Mr. Baggins," Kili's voice pierced the moment. "I need his amazing apple pie in my life."

Thorin tore his expression from Bilbo and directed an amused and quashing look at his young nephew. Bilbo let out a breath and quickly headed back into the kitchen. He needed a little space to breathe and get his head straight. He'd wasn't often overwhelmed by men he met, he knew what he liked and he went for it. It had taken him several years to get to that level of self-confidence. Thorin knocked him sideways, it was both vexing and absurdly arousing.

He made a pot of tea – remembering honey for Fili, and a large bowl of sugarlumps for Kili. He rarely forgot somebody's tea order – and carried it all out to the brothers' table, along with a nice half of pie for them to share. He had a feeling they'd enjoy that. He kept his eyes firmly to himself.

"The custard stays in the bowl," he warned.

Kili grinned filthily. "Why, Bilbo, what other uses do you think we'll find for it?"

Fili pinched his brother's thigh. "He knows us so well already."

Bilbo shook his head at them but felt something warm unfurl inside of him as he looked at them – he'd made them feel that comfortable, so comfortable in fact that there was no sign of any 'fuck-you' defensiveness. Instead they were relaxed and happily intertwined, and not at all on their guard. Mission accomplished.

Bilbo turned to ask Thorin what he'd like, but found the man looking at him with an odd twist of a smile. Bilbo held his gaze, determined not to blush. He could sense Thorin's posture and expression changing slightly, and so quickly nodded towards the blackboard menu.

"Let me know if you'd like anything."

"What do you recommend?"

Bilbo forced his mind to stay strictly on food, no matter the rich deepness of Thorin's voice. The bastard was probably doing that on purpose. "Well, your nephews have already given my apple pie the thumbs-up. I second that, and I particularly like the spiced pumpkin cakes. They're lovely with a herbal tea."

Thorin nodded slowly, his eyes still on Bilbo. "Then I shall have a slice of pie and a cake."

Bilbo's mouth flickered in a smile. "But no herbal tea."

Thorin smiled back. "Indeed."

A pleasant heat purred through Bilbo as he held Thorin's gaze for a beat longer before going to deal with the food order. There was no harm in it; it was always nice to have a bit of a flirt. Clearly Thorin wasn't offended by the idea.

When Bilbo emerged with a neat plate of apple pie and spiced pumpkin cake, he found Thorin sat at the counter. Kili and Fili had been left to their own devices, wrapped around each other and noisily scraping their bowls clean. Bilbo smiled in satisfaction, they were fast becoming his favourite visitors.

"You have no problem with my nephews?"

Bilbo blinked at Thorin's quiet but pointed question, and pushed the dessert plate across the counter. How often had Thorin visited places that the brothers frequented? How often had he paid people off? Or had to deal with people's angry or violent reactions? Something clenched inside Bilbo as he thought about his parents' relatively easy acceptance and encouragement, and his friends' well-meaning and affectionately teasing support - not everybody had that.

"They're paying for any stains they leave on my furniture," Bilbo replied, raising his voice. "And they're keeping their clothes on in here."

"Such a spoilsport," Fili called.

"You're missing out," his brother added.

Thorin's expression eased even more. "You may regret being so accommodating."

Bilbo laughed, the sound gentle and slightly sad rather than mocking. There was still an edge to Thorin, as though he couldn't believe that any would truly accept his nephews. Fili had mentioned before that his uncle was the most private person in the family. And Bilbo could see some stark scars on Thorin's neck, bared by a very snug t-shirt. Had he gotten those defending his nephews? Or were they from the apparent feud with that other club? No wonder Thorin was protective. Fal's stories about the police suddenly flooding into clubs and the fights that happened didn't seem so exaggerated now.

"This is a safe place," Bilbo tried. "Erebor is too. I mean, people can just _be_ here, you know? Over a cake and a cup of tea. Nothing else matters inside this room. It shouldn't, anyway."

Thorin was staring at him now, looking quite taken-aback. He didn't seem angry though, which was a bonus. Bilbo was only so good with words, no matter what Millie and Fal said. They claimed that was why people kept coming back to the café – because Bilbo actually listened and helped pick apart people's problems. His Dad had called him recently, with news of his cousins' latest escapades, adding that y_ou keep at it, son. There ought to be a lot more listening in the world._ Clearly Brinar was still talking regularly to Belladonna.

Thorin finally shifted, a hand enfolding around a fork. Bilbo's gaze skittered at the movement.

"You are a very singular man, Bilbo Baggins."

Bilbo smiled at the simple but complex words and dared to pick up a fork to sink into the cake he'd served Thorin. "Good."

When Thorin paid, his business card was wrapped up in the money. "I look forward to talking to you again, Mr. Baggins."

Bilbo gripped the card tight; he intended on keeping it somewhere Fal wouldn't nose his way into. Thorin's eyes were intent on Bilbo, as though...as though he was seriously waiting for an answer, like it was important to him. Everything about Thorin, even his sense of humour, was steeped in intensity. Thankfully, Bilbo liked that, a lot. He wondered just how it would feel to have that intensity turned on him, one on one. He wasn't going to give up the chance to find out.

"Likewise," he replied, tapping the card against his chest in time with his scattered heartbeat.

Thorin nodded and exchanged a loaded wordless glance with his nephews before disappearing out the door. The brothers blew out identical impressive breaths.

"Hook, line, and sinker, Bilbo. That's a first."

Bilbo looked at them. "If you're telling me that your uncle has trouble attracting dates, I really don't think I'll..."

"No, no problems there," agreed Kili. "He's just a paranoid bastard and if anyone he's interested in actually shows any serious interest back, he has Bifur and his security team run a background check on them."

That stopped Bilbo in his tracks. He knew there'd be a catch. "That's...unusual."

Fili's expression was utterly serious. "Last year, it turned out that a guy Uncle Thorin had a real hard-on for was reporting back to Smaug, arsehole-in-chief at Dragon's Den. Talked about everything he saw in Uncle's office and home."

It was Bilbo's turn to blow out a breath. That would explain the storied paranoia, and maybe even the intensity. The feud between the clubs apparently included corporate espionage and cracking Thorin's heart. Bilbo stared at the card and tucked it under his waistcoat. He didn't have anything to hide anyway.

Kili smiled at him affectionately, though there was steel behind it. "Don't break him, Bilbo. I meant what I said about your apple pie."

There were always words within words with the Durins, Bilbo realised. The brothers weren't just warning him not to hurt their uncle, they were also hinting at what Bilbo would have to deal with if he was seriously interested in Thorin, the layers he'd have to break through. Hard work. Bilbo thought about dark intense eyes, and a deep voice that curled up his spine and left riddles in its wake.

The brothers teased Bilbo for the rest of the night about the far-off look in his eyes. He threatened to strike apple pie from his menu.


	3. Chapter 3

"A second date's a great sign."

Millie sounded more confident that she usually did about an upcoming date. Bilbo held the phone securely with his chin as he rolled out shortcrust pastry. Three more pies to go and he was probably covered for the day.

"So no sign yet of the guy being a dick then?" he asked.

"No." Millie's smile was clear in her voice. "I've got you and Fal on speeddial though, just in case."

Bilbo snorted. "Don't call, Fal. He'll hit on your date."

"That could be a blessing; Fal does like dicks."

Bilbo nodded, knowing that Millie didn't need to hear him agree. Fal did like cocks who were dicks, because sometimes he was one of them. It was a very weird self-worship tick he had going on, probably more than was healthy.

Loud voices were coming from out front so Bilbo abandoned his rolling pin. "I'll have some chocolate and orange shortbread waiting for you."

"You legend. I'll bring the ice cream."

"Eat him alive, Mill."

Millie laughed before hanging up, the sort of dirty laugh that said a lot about how good she was feeling. Bilbo grinned; he hadn't heard Millie that excited about a guy in a long time. Maybe he wouldn't be making her consolation cock-shaped shortbread this time.

"Shop!"

Bilbo winced at the bellow and prepared himself for the worst as he hurried to greet his impatient customers. He found three rather unexpected figures – the two larger men were dressed in similar dark clothing and had meaty limbs and frankly impressive beards. The third was obviously younger and was also the only one smiling at Bilbo.

They were total strangers, and frankly rather intimidating, but there was also something in their expressions, in the way they looked around, that was familiar and so made Bilbo pause and choose different words than his usual 'what can I get you?'

"I'm assuming Kili and Fili recommended me?"

The older large one with sleek grey hair tightly braided back smiled a little. "Look at that, he's not an idiot."

The redheaded one with a hairstyle that might have alarmed even Brinar snorted. "Give him time."

The younger one was staring at the blackboard. "Can I have some flapjacks please, Mr Baggins? I'm Ori."

"Dori."

"Nori."

Bilbo smiled despite the sting of some of the previous comments. "More brothers..."

"Aye, but we're not inclined to start necking near any of your fancy books." Dori sat down heavily. "My advice, chuck a kettle of cold tea over them. They'll part like scalded cats."

"Hot tea for us." Nori sat down beside his brother. "And some of those orange scones."

"Make it a plateful."

Ori was thumbing delightedly through the craft section, seeming particularly drawn to the knitting books. Bilbo cast an eye over the overwhelming presence of the brothers, wondering briefly and alarmingly just what it would be like to have the whole Durin family crammed into his little café. All the members he'd met so far took up a lot of room with the strength of their personalities alone. He tucked thoughts of Thorin and his heady presence very carefully away for another time.

He heard Nori shout something, followed swiftly by something heavy hitting the wall. He hoped it wasn't Ori.

When he brought out their orders, Ori was present and correct and ate with the same gusto as his brothers, asking if it was okay for him to read a few of the books? Nori and Dori began inhaling the scones incredibly quickly, leaving Bilbo incredulous and hadn't he laid out more knives? Where on earth had they disappeared to?

Nori grinned, revealing pieces of orange stuck in his teeth. "Make it two platefuls!"

* * *

"So tell me, Mr Baggins..." Thorin settled back into the worn settee. "Why Violet Nights?"

Bilbo smiled, thinking of the contrary gold lettering above his café. His head was pillowed on the opposite end of the settee to Thorin and his feet were nestled in Thorin's lap. Thorin was rubbing strong thumbs against the arches of Bilbo's feet, an offer made when he'd caught how Bilbo was wincing after his busy day.

Which had brought them here, to this conversation.

"The only reason I could buy this place at all was my Great Aunt Violet dying," he explained softly, his mind filling with the smell of scones with jam and cream, and the sound of Violet's laughter as she gossiped with Belladonna. "She was...she was pretty amazing really, totally accepted me when I came out. She even told me about some of her friends; how she'd helped cover for them when they were out at clubs like yours."

Thorin nodded contemplatively, his hands steady but his eyes far away. "My grandmother ran a place in those days, Erebor in another form. She was a brave woman."

Bilbo nodded, hoarding that titbit, he was almost certain it wasn't available in any press release. Something about the café got people to open up. _No, dear._ Belladonna would insist, as she had the other night _The café just amplifies you._

Violet would have said the same thing.

"So it really is a family business," was all he offered up.

"Mmm..." Thorin's massage almost became a caress. "And I hope it always will be."

There was a wealth of stories there, so Bilbo turned questioning eyes towards Thorin in response. He never pushed hard, he just wanted Thorin to know that he'd like to hear the stories but that it was entirely up to Thorin whether they were told or not. Bilbo didn't have any hidden agenda. Well, except for making the foot rub a regular thing.

"You were right before; saying that Erebor is a safe place," Thorin elaborated, surprising Bilbo. "Ever since my grandmother created one for her friends, and for her brother, we've carried on that tradition, in our own way."

Bilbo nodded, that was quite the legacy Thorin was carrying on his shoulders. A good legacy for sure, but a heavy one. And Dragon's Den wasn't playing fair, its owner taking delight in vicious games. Bilbo dug his toes into Thorin's thigh.

"Erebor's a good place to get lost," he offered. "People need that, acceptance, in glitter, if memory serves. It's still safe."

Conflicting emotions stormed across Thorin's face and Bilbo patiently watched. He knew this was going to be a long, sometimes trying, game. He hadn't been so fascinated in years.

Thorin's hands cradled Bilbo's feet; it felt like an intimate embrace.

* * *

No matter how hard Bombur tried, he wasn't ever going to comfortably fit inside the café's kitchen. It was a pity because Bilbo really enjoyed the larger man's company. Bombur was full of enthusiasm for baked goods and full of recipes and ideas too, so he hung around the kitchen door, enjoying the smells and tasting anything Bilbo experimentally produced. Bombur also frequently wrote positively about Bilbo's café on his food blog - Belladonna had become a frequent visitor to the site and left detailed comments that made Bilbo alternately smile and shake his head. He knew for a bizarre fact that Belladonna had met up with Bombur several times already, the two becoming great friends due to their love of lunch.

As Bombur ate a spoonful of nutloaf with a thoughtful expression, Bifur growled something guttural from behind his laptop. Bilbo's brow wrinkled; he still couldn't understand anything Bifur said. According to the other Durins, it was all due to the thick jagged scar across Bifur's head; the legacy of an apparent mugging (though the Durins had their doubts that it was so coincidental).

"He says your security's for shit," Bofur announced cheerfully. "And that he can upgrade it for you, no problem."

Bilbo glared half-heartedly at Bifur – the man was right, his security was very low-grade as it was all he could afford. However, he wasn't keen on the fact that just because their boss had become something of a regular fixture at the café; certain Durins felt that it was therefore perfectly reasonable for them to stride around and change things in it without Bilbo's permission.

"You're right," Bilbo allowed. "But no changing anything without talking to me first."

Bifur let out a disgruntled string of words but there seemed to be grudging acceptance mixed in there too so Bilbo brought him a slice of sponge cake as a thank-you. Bofur slapped him on the back.

"Nothing for me, after all my tireless translating?"

Bilbo tried to fix him with an unimpressed look but it was difficult when Bofur looked so ridiculous in his earflap hat that canted lopsidedly. Paired with his handlebar moustache, he looked like he'd wandered in from some absurdist play.

"Are you laughing at my hat again? Oh, I should definitely get free cake for that insult."

Bifur muttered something in a tone that made Bilbo grin and Bofur chuck a PG Woodhouse at his cousin.

* * *

"I think I should get a cut of the profits," Brinar insisted, as he did every time he visited for a piece of a carrot cake and cream and found that the café was still doing rather well.

"I think you're already getting free cake whenever you want it," Bilbo countered pointedly.

Brinar made a sulky noise. "Your Mum would let me have a cut."

Bilbo was about to voice just how doubtful that fact was when the café door was flung open and Kili and Fili strode in, arm and arm and laughing, both their faces flushed. Kili was wearing a black lace bustier and black jeans with his ever-present Doc Martins; Fili as always was in his custom leathers. The two of them really ought to be illegal, Bilbo thought as he always did whenever they were dressed to kill. He'd voiced that opinion before and Kili had laughed, undulating against his brother, saying that they were illegal already, thanks. Well, he had a point.

Dwalin and Ori were just behind them, Dwalin as always looking terrifying in a rough assortment of leather and denim, his beard bristling and his eyes sweeping the café for threats. There was a scar on his arm that Ori had said was from a foiled attempt on Thorin's life. Ori was decked out in a homemade jumper and his usual sweet smile. He and Dwalin made an incongruous pair, but more than once Bilbo had caught the tender look in Dwalin's eyes as he gazed down at his young boyfriend. Brinar's eyes were very wide as he took in the arresting sight that the group made. Bilbo smiled; it wasn't often that his friend wore such utter speechless shock.

"You're a little early, aren't you, gentlemen?" he asked.

Kili dived down to give Bilbo a noisy kiss on the cheek. "Couldn't wait until the club closed to see you."

"Of course."

Bilbo rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Fili and Kili visited the café very regularly, clearly pleased to find somewhere they could let everything hang out without the police being called – though Bilbo continually made it clear that if he found them having sex in any part of the cafe, they were going to be paying a lot extra. Fili usually replied that that sounded like a challenge.

Bilbo had met most of the Durin clan by now, who were all shapes and sizes and all extremely protective of each other – because of the feud, Balin had said ominously one night – and who didn't often mix with outsiders. Bilbo felt privileged and pleased that his café was considered safe enough territory for them to gather there so often.

Dwalin snorted loudly when Bilbo looked towards him and Ori. "Well, I'm not kissing yer."

"Thank God for that. Tea all round?"

"Aye, do you have any of that rhubarb crumble?" Dwalin wanted to know.

Brinar was gaping at Bilbo, clearly poleaxed. Bilbo savoured the expression on his friend's face. He could get a lot of mileage out of this, especially if Brinar was going to keep going on about having a cut of the profits.

"Oh, Brinar, this is Kili, Fili, Dwalin and Ori, they're regulars here when their club closes. This is Brinar, an old friend who gave me the idea for this place."

The four Durins nodded at him, not offering their hands. Brinar nodded back.

"Fucking hell, Bilbo, I told you you'd be knee-deep in cock."

Kili grinned, sending a lascivious look towards the café owner. "Oh, he could be if he asked nicely…"

"I've told you before, Kili, your glitter won't wash out of my sheets," Bilbo said airily.

"And I don't share," Fili added, possessively cupping Kili's arse.

Bilbo was prevented from saying anything more by a warm arm pressing against his side. He didn't have to look to know who it was; Thorin's expensive aftershave was distinctive, as was the smell of worn leather and the hint of dry ice and something that was always just _Thorin_. He must have entered the café when everybody was distracted by conversation. Bilbo leaned towards him and Thorin tucked a slow arm around his waist. Bilbo's breath caught – that was new, and very welcome. Had he passed Bifur's security checks? They really needed to talk about that.

He was just turning enquiring eyes towards Thorin when Kili's sharp sly voice cut in.

"Hey, Bilbo, you know the rules about staining the furniture."

_-the end_


End file.
